ALICE Ch 367

The Paddock is like a little patch of Europe, and while she’s not about to admit it, Glynda isn’t overly fond of being in countries where she doesn’t speak the language. She has no desire to leave the motorhome, not even for the admittedly spectacular hotel that FUTA has in Suzuka, along with half the other teams and a number of VIPs, including Irina Orlova—only this morning, Glynda saw Irina and her entourage climbing into what appeared to be a small caravan of Mercedes saloon cars.

She glances up at her frosted glass door just in time to recognize the skeletal, rather off-putting and vaguely sinister silhouette of Alice Wilde. There’s a knock.

“Yes,” she says, and Alice enters the room, wearing a FUTA windbreaker one size too big and boot cut jeans that don’t make her look less like a Halloween decoration; they just make her look like a badly-dressed one. It occurs to Glynda that with only one functioning driver on top of everything else, she might not be in the best humor. Alice probably wears nothing under that windbreaker except for bandages. There are two spots that are badly burned: right on the outside of her right shoulder and a generous patch on her back, also on the right side. Even the slightest movement will cause serious pain. It’s not Alice’s fault, but she is badly hurt. It’s difficult not to hold that against her.

Glynda controls her temper. It needn’t be brought up that Alice should not be here. Alice knows that; she’s burned, not brain-damaged.

“I was actually pretty nervous coming here,” Alice admits, easing into a chair. She puts a fanny pack on the desk.

“What’s that, then?”

“It’s a shitload of oxy.”

Glynda blinks owlishly. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s my pain meds, Glynda. I haven’t used them. None of them.”

“I’m sorry, have you lost whatever is left of your fool mind? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’m gonna drive on Sunday.”

“You’re mad.”

“Bet your ass I am,” Alice says. “Or do you have someone in mind to drive with Faye?”

“I haven’t decided if Faye’s driving or not.”

“Yeah, and it’s making her fucking batty,” Alice adds. “You know you’re going to let her. Or ask her to. Or tell her. However the fuck you want to navigate that. But you will. And she knows it, but you haven’t said it yet, so she’s just in a constant meltdown.” Alice snaps her fingers several times rapidly. “On and on. She will talk about anything but driving. Back in Florida, we have people doing all kinds of meth that are more chill than your daughter right now. I’m in here talking to you. I haven’t taken those pills. I’m not going to take those pills. I’m going to be clear and good to go.”

“It must hurt.”

“Hurts like a bitch. But you know what else hurts? Everything about my career. You let me drive, or I will give you shit about this at every holiday for the rest of your life if Faye and I get married someday.”

“The idea of you marrying my daughter is a much greater threat than your stupid hecklin’,” Glynda mutters, throwing her glasses on the blotter and rubbing her face.

“OK, I’ll raise you. Let me drive or me and Faye move in with you and I have noisy sex with her every night, and you never sleep again, ever.” Alice winces as she folds her arms, watching Glynda bury her face in her hands. “Yeah. Nothing to say to that, huh? Checkmate. You know she’s trying to get me to go to Legoland? They have that here? And she wants to go see a giant gun damn? What kind of fucked up shit did you do to her when she was a kid, Glynda?”